


Happy to Help

by foxpuppet



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Broken Bones, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Good Puns?, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Humor, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, NOT Hurt/Comfort, Outdoor Sex, Phone Sex, Rimming, Shower Sex, Smut, Smut every Chapter, Switching, Wangst, friends helping friends jerk off, i hate that it's not spelled "humour", this is what friends do right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxpuppet/pseuds/foxpuppet
Summary: “I’ve just. It’s been a while,” Bruce continued, his voice less tight. “And now…” He trailed off, lifting his arms to show the casts. The implication, now I can’t even do anything about it, was obvious.“Do you need a hand?”
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 142
Kudos: 663





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [举手之劳／Happy to Help](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738228) by [FloraF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloraF/pseuds/FloraF)



> "Helping a friend/enemy/whatever to masturbate because they can't do it themself" is one of my absolute favourite tropes. Along with "I walked in on you masturbating and didn't leave and you didn't stop and so I accidentally watched you masturbating, oops" and it's sequel trope, "You watched me masturbating so I should get to watch you masturbate because that's only fair, right?"
> 
> So here's a fic dedicated to very specific porn subcategories! As always: disregard cannon, commence porn.

Clark was trying very hard not to laugh as he watched Bruce grudgingly accept another forkful of dinner from Alfred. Bruce had argued bitterly that he didn’t need the help until Alfred had huffed in a way that was almost baffled and said,

“Master Bruce, how is it that you did not give me half as much trouble when you were an infant and I was tasked to feed you?”

That was when Clark had had to start suppressing laughter. Bruce had glanced at him, seeming to sense (and resent) Clark’s amusement, before dropping his eyes and apologising. He had quietly received each mouthful but the indignation was evident in the set of his shoulders and refusal to meet anyone’s eye.

The three of them were in the dining room, Clark eating as well since Alfred could not bear the idea of someone not being fed when there was food available. And Clark would never turn down Alfred’s cooking.

Whenever the urge to laugh got too strong Clark would glance again at Bruce’s arms, the left wrapped in a cast to over the elbow, the right in a cast to the forearm. Both came to almost the second knuckles of each hand, limiting the movement of Bruce’s fingers severely. It was an effectively sobering sight.

What possibly made this whole scenario even worse for Bruce was that he believed it to be entirely his fault. It had been an accident but Bruce Wayne did not believe in accidents. Especially when they were his own.

He had been testing a new grappling line in the cave. He had been trying to make the whole gun lighter while retaining durability but, despite Bruce’s extensive pre-testing, it had broken during the first live test.

Bruce had explained in detail which Clark only partially understood that while the line had the strength to hold his weight it had apparently become more prone to shearing. While Bruce had swung on the line, it had rubbed against something that had frayed it until it snapped and Bruce had fallen. He had hit the mats he had put down, bounced off of them and landed awkwardly on both arms.

And now for the next six weeks Bruce was in casts, with orders to not put undue strain on the bones for another month afterwards. 

Needless to say Bruce was upset.

Clark had come to discuss JLA rescheduling while Bruce was out of commission because there was no way in hell Batman was going to show up at the Watchtower in casts. Far too undignified for the Dark Knight. Not that Clark blamed him, with how utterly merciless their teammates could be.

Once Alfred was satisfied with the amount Bruce had eaten, Clark had finished long before, they began discussing. Alfred brought them coffee before bidding them both good night.

The untouched cup in front of Bruce was cold and they had long ago moved onto more general topics before Clark realised how late it had gotten. He rose, stretching out his back with a satisfied groan, making Bruce smile.

“It’s late,” Clark said, unnecessarily. 

Bruce only hummed in response, rising stiffly from his chair and rolling his shoulders to crack them. Clark was always astonished by the wide variety of sounds Bruce’s body could produce. That thought suddenly struck him as lewd and he swallowed another laugh.

They moved into the hall before separating, Clark moving to the door and Bruce to the stairs, calling their goodbyes to one another. Then Clark thought of something.

“Do you need a hand?” he called

Bruce paused on the stair, looking like he wanted to be annoyed. “No, I’m fine,” he said shortly.

Clark looked sceptically at Bruce’s shirt. It was a button up with the sleeves rolled up above the casts. Bruce probably could get out of it alone but it would be annoying and might even hurt if Bruce got frustrated and moved too roughly.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Clark said decisively and it was a testament to how tired Bruce must have been that he only rolled his eyes and kept walking up the stairs.

They walked to Bruce’s room in companionable silence, Clark opening the door for Bruce despite the look he knew he would, and did, get. The bedside light was already on, Alfred having more than likely lit it to help Bruce to bed. 

Clark stepped close to unbutton Bruce’s shirt. Bruce took in a small sip of breath, as though surprised and Clark gave him a look that asked what he had expected to happen. Strangely Bruce blushed, though the scowl was fairly commonplace. Clark grinned back, unbuttoning with swift efficiency. 

He couldn’t keep himself from licking his lips however as the long vee of chest was exposed. Scars from knives, from bullets, from who knew what. Something that looked like an acid burn peeking around the curve of ribcage. All faded now. The suit had improved, upgraded from each encounter, made stronger and better after each breech. Just like Bruce.

Clark snapped his eyes back up again. This was not the time to be waxing poetic about Bruce’s (fantastic) body. There was never a time to do such but now especially was unwise. With Bruce so close that Clark could feel his breath. 

Bruce was looking up at the ceiling, his face tight. Probably embarrassed about what he saw as evidence of his failures. When they were only proof of his success. After all, each scar was a time Bruce had beaten death.

Clark fought the urge to run his hands over everything and moved around Bruce to begin working his sleeves over the casts. Between the two of them they got a bit tangled, making both of them laugh, breaking the tension. Finally Bruce shook gently free of the shirt and turned to face Clark.

They smiled at each other for what seemed like a little too long. Clark jerked back to himself and reached for Bruce again.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked quickly, taking a half step back.

Clark shot another look at Bruce and said, “I doubt you’ll be able to get your belt.”

Bruce flushed again, scowled again. Clark laughed again. “Come on. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.” 

And wouldn’t mind seeing again. But that thought wasn’t helpful. Clark ignored his thirsty brain, waiting for Bruce to stop looking pissed. Finally Bruce huffed a sigh and gave a curt nod. Clark grinned and reached again. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he couldn’t help joking. Bruce gave him an unimpressed look but Clark could see a smile tucked in the corners of his mouth. 

The belt was quickly removed and Clark didn’t wait for Bruce to protest before he undid his slacks as well. A quick push and they were pooling around Bruce’s ankles and Clark was forcing himself to keep his eyes northward.

Bruce stepped out of the pants and kicked them away. “That’s fine,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Clark cleared his dry throat and nodded. His smile felt fixed and unnatural but Bruce wasn’t looking at him anyway. Before he could stop himself he had glanced down. Bad idea.

Bruce was semi-erect, not hard yet but quickly making his way there. The sight caught Clark’s gaze like a fishhook. He was trapped by it, by the knowledge of Bruce’s arousal, hidden tantalizingly inside a pair of snug boxer-briefs.

Clark must have made a sound, as devastating as that thought was, because Bruce looked at him again. Now Clark’s eyes were flicking between Bruce’s face and that increasing bulge in his underwear.

Bruce cleared his throat, his face deeply flushed, his expression pained. “Sorry,” he began.

“Don’t apologise!” Clark interrupted. Clearing his throat again he added less forcefully, “It happens.”

“I’ve just. It’s been a while,” Bruce continued, his voice less tight. “And now…” He trailed off, lifting his arms to show the casts. The implication,  _ now I can’t even do anything about it _ , was obvious.

“Do you need a hand?” 

Clark was sure he would never have to deal with the consequences of that question because he was going to die of embarrassment. 

Bruce became so still Clark thought maybe he was the one who had died. Unbearable seconds passed, then he said very quietly, “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“I’m offering.” What the actual fuck was Clark’s mouth doing? None of this was being okayed with his brain first. “What are friends for?”

Bruce gave Clark a half amused, half astonished look. “For giving sickbed happy endings?” he said, his voice shaking with shocked laughter.

Clark laughed too, sounding more nervous than anything to his own ears. They laughed together again, the tension not easing but smoothing out somehow. Becoming easier to cope with.

“It’ll go away on it’s own,” Bruce said after they had calmed somewhat. 

They both glanced down and Bruce grimaced deeply. Rather than going down Bruce was fully erect now. It strained against the fabric of his underwear, a wet patch forming over the tip. Clark had to resist the urge to just fall to his knees and suck.

“You sure?” Clark asked, neither of them looking up from Bruce’s crotch. There was an obvious twitch from the bulge and Clark couldn’t keep from grinning. “That looks uncomfortable.”

Bruce let out an exasperated breath and glared at Clark. “Fine,” he said in a voice that sounded like he was questioning his sanity.

Clark could sympathise. He took Bruce’s elbow and led him to the bed. Bruce sat stiffly, swinging his legs up at Clark’s prompting and leaning forward as Clark settled behind him. After arranging the pillows just right Clark pulled Bruce back against his chest.

He felt incredibly aware of his own state of dress compared to Bruce’s nakedness and shuffled his hips back a little. He was already fairly aroused himself but Bruce really didn’t need to know that. Whatever Clark was getting out of this (spank material for life) it was about Bruce. He honestly wanted to help Bruce out. The fact that he would enjoy it, _a_ _lot_ , wasn’t the point.

Hooking his chin over Bruce’s shoulder, Clark slid his arms under Bruce’s. He ran his hands over Bruce’s abdomen, getting used to the idea of touching him like this. Bruce’s breathing was carefully measured, and Clark took that as encouragement. 

Clark tugged the underwear out and down, releasing Bruce’s cock. He hooked the elastic under Bruce’s balls then ran his hands up and down the inside of Bruce’s thighs, letting himself just look for a moment.

“If you don’t want to-” Bruce began, sounding a little more breathless now.

Clark chuckled, saying, “And leave you hanging? What kind of friend would that make me?”

“A normal one?” Bruce suggested, amused.

Clark chuckled again. Then he wrapped his hand around Bruce’s flushed wanting cock. Bruce jolted like he hadn’t believed Clark would actually do it, letting out a surprised sound. Clark hid his smile against Bruce’s shoulder and tugged.

He set up a rhythm and grip that was deliberately just a little too slow and light, guessing it would drive Bruce crazy. He was right. Bruce’s thighs were clenched tight, his fingers twisted in the expensive sheets. Bruce’s body thrummed with the need to move like a plucked guitar string.

Clark loved the feeling of Bruce trembling against him but he couldn’t drag this out. He let his grip tighten until Bruce gave a tight nod.

“Like that,” he said, tipping his head back to rest on Clark’s shoulder. He seemed to be aiming for an instructive tone but he was too breathless, too wanting to sound as detached as he probably wanted.

Clark was breathing through his mouth. Not quite panting but close. He saw goosebumps break out over Bruce’s neck as his breath hit it, hot and damp. Bruce was panting, tight and quick through his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth. Perhaps to smother any sounds he might have made. To Clark’s disappointment.

Clark’s gaze was fixed firmly on his hand moving over Bruce’s cock. He couldn’t have looked away to save himself. He could have only stopped to save Bruce. And even then, it would have been close. 

His other hand dipped down and gently rolled Bruce’s balls between his fingers, massaging and tugging them lightly.

Bruce let out a noise of quiet desperation that was so beautiful it made Clark want to cry. The cast hindered fingers of his right hand grabbed at Clark’s forearm. Bruce turned his face into Clark’s neck and shuddered. 

Clark watched Bruce come all over his hands, biting back his own moan, pressing his cheek against Bruce’s. They sat together, Bruce burrowed into Clark’s neck, Clark watching Bruce’s cock slowly return to rest. Finally Bruce began to stir.

He sat forward, tugging his underwear back up awkwardly. “Th-thank you,” he said, “If that’s the right thing to say in this situation.”

“Thanks are always appreciated,” Clark said, his voice sounding rusty and unused. Both of them laughed, stilted sounding but genuine.

Clark clambered up, his come covered hands held high to keep from dirtying the sheets. “I’m just gonna,” he gestured to the ensuite with his elbow, still keeping his hands up.

Bruce blushed fiercely and also gestured to the bathroom, silently telling Clark to go ahead. Clark nodded, even though Bruce was looking at the floor, not him and moved to the thankfully partially open door. 

He hip bumped the door closed behind him then slumped back against the wood. His heart was racing, his crotch was throbbing and his face felt hot enough to fry an egg. Clark stood gasping quietly for a moment trying to regain some semblance of self control. 

But it was hard when he could smell Bruce all over himself, could smell Bruce’s come all over his hands. 

Clark blinked down at the mess in his palms, licking his lips. Slowly he raised one hand towards his mouth, the scent of Bruce’s release growing more overwhelming as it came closer to his face. He opened his lips, his tongue trembling between his teeth as he breathed the taste of Bruce’s pleasure. 

The tap was running and Clark was soaping his hands before he could do anything even more stupid than what he had already done. 

Hands clean and dry, erection mostly under control, Clark finally moved back into the bedroom. Bruce was under the covers, seemingly staring up at the ceiling. Clark paused in the middle of the room, unsure how to say goodbye after giving your best friend a get well handjob. 

Bruce didn’t move and Clark thought maybe it would be best if he didn’t say anything at all. So he headed to the door, saying nothing. He reached for the knob then paused. He heard Bruce’s heart speed up.

“Let me know if you have any more trouble,” Clark said, not turning around. “I’m always willing to lend a hand.”

There was a pause. Then Bruce snorted into a chuckle. “Get out of here, you dork!” Bruce laughed, throwing a pillow at Clark’s head.

Clark grinned back at Bruce, not bothering to dodge the pillow, catching it as it bounced off his face. He threw it back to Bruce, who swatted it aside, and exited the room with a wave.

As he headed back out of the mansion Clark began to whistle.


	2. Week Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark gave Bruce a friendly grin, like this wasn’t a completely inappropriate request, like Bruce wasn’t out of his fucking mind to be asking for this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing the first part I could feel it wanting to be longer. So here's some more, I guess.

Bruce fumbled agitatedly with the wrapper of his protein bar, completely unwilling to call in his secretary to help. One reason was he had been playing Brucie for an uninterrupted week now and he was sick to death of it. Another was he didn’t think he could stand the somehow paternal amusement that was present on his secretary’s face every time Bruce asked the man for help because of his casts. 

Bruce did not like being looked after. Bruce did not need looking after. 

Unless it was Clark offering to lend a hand. 

Bruce shook his head violently and ripped into the packaging with his teeth. He did not need to be thinking about Clark. Or Clark’s hands. Or how good Clark was with his hands. 

Of course, Bruce had been hard pressed to do anything but think about Clark ever since the surreal moment he had offered Bruce a handjob. Of all the things he thought Clark was willing to do for him casual sex was not one of them. Even the non-reciprocal kind. Or, _especially_ the non-reciprocal kind?

Not that Bruce wanted to reciprocate. Well, he _did_ but only if Clark wanted that too. Which he didn’t. Obviously Clark wouldn’t want reciprocal sex with Bruce. But there weren’t many (any) people Bruce could think of that would give their friend a handjob for nothing. Or at all, really. 

But it was just like Clark to go way beyond just to be helpful. And there was no way in the multiverse that Bruce was ever going to turn down a chance to have Clark touch him, be it a friendly clap on the shoulder or getting a bizarre platonic handjob.

Taking an aggressive bite of the protein bar clutched awkwardly between fingers and cast Bruce turned back to the pile of paperwork that he normally would have pushed off onto an employee, wishing he could just stop thinking about Clark and his goddamn amazing hands.

Once Bruce got wrapped up in the minutia of paperwork his wish was granted, at least temporarily. He was only called out of that work headspace by the steadily growing ache in his fractured bones. You forgot to take breaks, the little voice in his head that sounded like Alfred scolded him. 

Bruce grimaced as he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands to get them above heart-level in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

“I’ve been sent to collect you,” a voice said from his office door.

Bruce wouldn’t have been much of an intimidating vigilante if he jumped whenever he heard an unexpected voice, but considering who the voice belonged to he didn’t have to. Clark would be able to hear his heart trip over itself. 

He was polite enough not to mention it however. Or perhaps just scared enough of Bruce’s ire after the one time he had mentioned that he’d managed to give Batman a start. “Alfred sent me,” Clark said, moving to sit in one of the chairs before Bruce’s desk.

“Why didn’t he just ring?” Bruce asked. He wasn’t avoiding looking at Clark, he was just reviewing what he had just finished. 

The fluid shift of Clark’s shrug filled the upper point of Bruce’s periphery. “I don’t question Alfred when he asks for favours.” The grin was obvious in his voice as Clark added, “Since he usually pays me back in food.”

Bruce snorted and glanced up. Clark was draped casually in a chair designed to make it’s occupant uncomfortable, an intimidation tactic and a deterrent for overstaying all in one. He looked ridiculously good, his hair wind tossed from flying, his glasses folded away, tie discarded and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. 

He looked like something off the cover of a pulp romance novel. He looked like a wet dream Bruce had had more than once.

The thought made Bruce laugh out loud. Clark smiled back but didn’t ask what was funny. He just stared at Bruce’s face as though there was something there worth looking at. Of course Bruce was handsome, it would be the falsest form of modesty for Bruce to even pretend otherwise. But that had never been enough of a reason to get Clark to look at him before.

Perhaps he was wondering if Bruce was still thinking about the handjob. Perhaps he was trying to think of something to say if that were the case. Perhaps he was going to tell Bruce that it had been a mistake, that they shouldn’t have done it. Perhaps he wanted to, god forbid, _talk_ _about it_. 

Or perhaps Clark hadn’t thought about the handjob since it happened. Perhaps he had essentially forgotten the whole thing and Bruce was the only one obsessing. 

Something in Bruce’s stomach clenched and he felt a sudden directionless sense of loss. Without considering the consequences he said, “I’ve been feeling a little restless.”

Clark tilted his head questioningly. Bruce had to swallow around the lump in his throat that felt suspiciously heart shaped. “Since last time,” he said meaningfully.

Clark blinked. “You. You want to?” he asked uncertainly, making a gesture with his hand as though Bruce could be referring to anything else. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Bruce practically mumbled into his chest.

He watched Clark’s face grow surprised. Bruce hoped to any god currently available that if Clark didn’t want to do this again that he would just say that. Rather than do something devastating like trying to let Bruce down gently. Something that would hurt far worse than any broken bone.

“I mean.” Clark blinked a few more times. Cleared his throat. “If, if you’d like. Sure.”

Clark gave Bruce a friendly grin, like this wasn’t a completely inappropriate request, like Bruce wasn’t out of his fucking mind to be asking for this again. He got out of the chair and moved around Bruce’s desk. Bruce pushed his chair back, turned to face him. 

Clark was still grinning, as he perched on the arm of Bruce’s chair. He was probably more hovering than sitting and for some reason that thought made Bruce suddenly yearn to reach out, to touch, caress and hold.

But all he did was stare, lips curled between his teeth holding back all the ridiculous things that he wouldn’t (wanted to) say. 

Clark’s gaze dropped to his crotch and Bruce felt it like a weight. “No belt?” he asked teasingly and Bruce made himself scowl so he wouldn’t laugh.

Nimble fingers undid his slacks and Bruce found that he was already getting hard. He half held his breath, waiting for another joke. But all Clark did was trace the shape of him through his underwear. 

Clark draped his arm over the back of the chair, turning himself more towards Bruce, pressing his chest tantalisingly close to Bruce’s face. He was so close Bruce could smell him, could feel his heat. Bruce had to resist the urge to press his face into Clark’s armpit and inhale, to press his face into Clark’s chest and seek out the nipple hidden beneath his shirt with teeth and tongue. 

Bruce’s cock was twitching at the thought, at the want, at the feel of Clark’s finger teasing out the shape of his cockhead. “Do you jerk off in your office often?” Clark asked, his voice strangely curious sounding.

Bruce stiffened, even as his cock throbbed at the question. He pulled his lips between his teeth again, unsure if he could even muster up enough voice to answer.

Clark shuffled closer on the arm of the chair, his other arm curling around Bruce a little more. “Do you say you’re having a long lunch or taking a nap, lock the door and just rub one out in the middle of the day?” 

“The door,” Bruce said, realising he hadn’t even thought about locking it.

Clark cocked his head to indicate he was listening and said, “There’s no one here. Except two security guards in the lobby office. I’ve got you.”

Turning the genuine expression of support into a double entendre Clark slipped his hand into Bruce’s underwear, wrapping it around his now aching cock. Bruce couldn’t hold back the absolutely devastating noise he made, so he tried to muffle it by pressing his face into Clark’s chest.

To distract from the fact he was pretty much just melting into Clark’s side Bruce said, “I may have masturbated at work. Once or twice.”

Clark made an encouraging sound, like this was a normal conversation between two friends. Minus the handjob. Maybe it was, Bruce wouldn’t know. He had always gone out of his way to be abnormal. Perhaps that was how he’d gotten into this friends-with-one-sided-benefits situation.

“I’m not as much of an exibitionist as certain magazines would have you believe,” Bruce said, trying to subtly work his nose into the open vee of Clark’s shirt.

Clark laughed, making his hand flex around Bruce’s cock, making Bruce’s hips flex. “Yet you run around in all that black leather?” he joked.

Bruce pulled back so Clark could see his scowl, though his gaze remained locked on Clark’s neck. “Says the man who runs around in skintight lycra,” Bruce said, mock stern.

“It’s not lycra,” Clark rebuffed with no force, finally pulling Bruce’s cock out of his underwear.

Bruce watched Clark’s square hand work him over rather than say anything else. Clark seemed fine with that, happy to start touching Bruce properly. 

He seemed to immediately work out which places Bruce was the most sensitive, how he liked to be touched best. But rather than using that to push Bruce towards rapid climax, which honestly wouldn’t take much effort at all, he seemed to want to draw this out.

Bruce whimpered, leaning back into Clark. Back into that scent that drove him crazy. After the last time, his pillow had smelt of Clark and Bruce had been unable to fall asleep for a long time, his heart beating itself senseless on the inside of his ribcage.

Now he was wrapped in that smell again, wrapped in that hand again, wrapped in this feeling that this was too surreal to ever be his life. But at the same time, only real life was as awkward as trying to understand what was and wasn’t acceptable in this bizarre situation. 

Without knowing when it had happened Bruce found he was clutching at Clark’s thigh. He was frustrated, as he had been the last time, that his cast kept him from grabbing the meat of it. Clark had amazing thighs that Bruce had always wanted to grip and bite and fuck. Now he was allowed(?) to touch he couldn’t even get a decent hold on them.

Bruce must have been doing something embarrassing because Clark was making soothing sounds at him. “Not enough?” he asked quietly, kindly. It was enough to make Bruce want to cry.

Instead he gasped, “Please,” and left it up to Clark to interpret. 

Clark’s response was to suck in a breath. Had that rasped request finally been the thing to push this into Too Far? But then Clark was curling tighter around Bruce, almost sliding off the chair’s arm and into Bruce’s lap. He was gripping Bruce with that achingly perfect pressure, exact down to the last pascal. He was pulling on Bruce’s cock in a long, slow slide that was the best kind of unhurried sex.

Then Clark was pulling his hand away, leaning back a bit and Bruce couldn’t stop himself from clutching desperately at Clark’s wrist, begging wordlessly for that hand back on him.

“Hang on,” Clark breathed.

 _Then licked his fucking hand_.

Bruce couldn’t form coherent thought. The part of his brain normally reserved for intelligent analysis was replaying the sight of Clark’s tongue, pink and broad, swiping over his palm again and again. The white flash of his teeth, the shadowed pink of the inside of his mouth. 

Bruce was still buffering over that image when Clark reached back towards his crotch. And stopped.

“Is,” he hesitated. “Is this okay?” Clark’s voice was so small, so worried. Like he thought Bruce would be grossed out. Like he thought Bruce was actually capable of saying no to him.

Bruce nodded tightly, unable to say anything around that image of Clark’s wet tongue. Around the knowledge that Clark would have been able to taste Bruce all over his palm.

Clark reached for him again, wrapping his cock back in his hand this time. It was deliciously wet and warm, making Bruce think involuntarily of how wet and warm Clark’s mouth must be. How it would feel around his cock. How it would taste of Bruce if he kissed Clark now.

Clark’s other hand slid into Bruce’s underwear to tease his balls. Bruce couldn’t keep from squirming. A finger pressed lightly at his perineum, as though to test his reaction. As though Bruce could react anyway but favourably to anything Clark was willing to do to him.

Bruce’s shuddering breaths must have been enough positive response for Clark to press two firm fingers against Bruce’s taint. His thumb and remaining fingers still massaged Bruce’s balls with an amount of coordination that might have been impressive if Bruce had expected anything less than perfect physical control from Clark. 

“M’gonna-” Bruce gasped tightly, pressing his face into the crook of Clark’s neck, suppressing the urge to bite.

The slower pace stretched Bruce’s orgasm out, long pulses that left him squirming in Clark’s skilled hands. He couldn’t control the undulating roll of his hips as he came for what felt like minutes, biting his lip and swallowing back any sound that wanted to escape.

“Shit,” Bruce breathed when he was finally done. 

His head was still pressed tightly into Clark’s neck. Clark didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move him so Bruce took the chance to soak in Clark’s excessive body heat and surreptitiously smell him some more. 

Eventually Bruce pulled away. It was yet another testament to Clark’s overly kind nature that he hadn’t commented on how long it took. As expected. And Bruce wasn’t above taking advantage when he thought he could get away with it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, still feeling incredibly strange to be thanking Clark for a handjob.

“Like I said,” Clark’s tone was friendly as he slid off the chair’s arm, “I’m happy to lend a hand. Or two.”

Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes. “Why am I friends with you?” he asked, a damning amount of affection in his tone.

“You’re just jealous that I punned first,” Clark said, moving towards the washroom to clean up.

Bruce managed to get himself back in his pants and even partially zipped up before Clark came back to help.

“Come on. Alfred definitely thinks we’re both in trouble by now,” Clark said, taking Bruce’s elbow and leading him out to the elevator.

As they headed up to the roof, where Clark would fly them both home, Bruce was thinking. He didn’t know about Clark but Bruce was certain _he_ was most definitely in trouble. 


	3. Week Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To avoid doing something stupid Clark did something else only slightly less stupid. “Have you been feeling… restless at all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue! As this goes on it seems to be becoming less humour more wangst... shit.

Clark was feeling agitated. He thought he could probably figure out the reason but he was very deliberately not thinking about it. Because if he did he might do something stupid.

Of course, he had already done something stupid. Twice.

After the first time he’d jacked Bruce off Clark had promised himself he would never mention it again. Wouldn’t even think about it (except in very specific scenarios involving jacking  _ himself  _ off) again. But then Bruce had brought it up. Bruce had  _ asked _ Clark to do it again. To touch him again.

It would take someone stronger than Superman to say no to that.

Clark realised it was a bad idea to be having casual sex with Bruce. For so many reasons. Not in the least because last week Clark had said things that had to have made it very clear that Clark’s interest in helping Bruce out was very much not selfless.

More than anything he was scared Bruce would break off their friendship. What Clark needed, even more than anything physical, was to simply have Bruce in his life. If he decided Clark wanted more than he could give Bruce might simply demand they cut ties as much as possible. The thought alone threatened to open a black hole in Clark’s chest.

Which was why Clark wasn’t thinking about why he was feeling agitated. And how it was probably connected to Bruce.  _ Or  _ thinking about how empty his hands felt. And what would perfectly fill them. Or fill other places in Clark’s body. 

“Clark?” a calm voice drifted across his thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hummed, not really hearing.

“Do you mean to shake apart the whole Watchtower? I only ask because there are some currently aboard who would not survive very long in space.”

Diana’s amused tone finally broke through to Clark. He came back to himself to find that his leg was jigging hard enough to rock the table at which he and Diana were seated. Feeling ridiculous he stilled the movement.

Diana smiled teasingly as she said, “Feeling restless?”

The wording triggered a memory ( _ I’ve been feeling restless. Since last time. _ ) that Clark had been working hard to avoid. He blushed and had to actively repress the urge to start bouncing his leg again. 

“I’ve been out in the sun a lot,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of excess energy.” Which wasn’t quite a lie, he did have a lot of excess energy. Just not from sunlight.

Diana made an unconvinced sound, but was still smiling. Whatever she thought the reason for Clark’s jittering was she obviously didn’t think it was something that needed A Talk. For which Clark was very very grateful. A Talk with Diana would almost definitely be counter productive to Clark’s ‘don’t think about it’ plan.

“We have covered all that we need to at this juncture,” Diana said, taking the stack of notes they had been consulting and tapping them against the table to neaten the edges. “All that remains is to inform Bruce of what we have discussed and to request his input.”

“I can do that,” Clark said, quickly enough that Diana looked up at him sharply.

“It’s alright, Clark,” she said, a ghost of her smile still lingering on her face. “You do not have to-”

“No, I can. I don’t have anything to do right now.” Clark had the feeling that there had been more that Diana had been going to say but his agitation had suddenly welled up to pour out of him. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise past his own mouth, so Diana had no hope.

“I’ll just,” he took the tidy stack of notes from Diana’s hands, “Take these on over to Bruce. It’s fine really.”

“Clark,” Diana tried to interject.

Clark was already up and to the door. As he left the room he called back, “No really, it’s fine. I don’t mind. I’ll talk to you later, Diana.”

Diana called something that contained the words “call him,” but Clark’s mind was already racing ahead to the point where he got to see Bruce again. A part of Clark realised that this was probably a bad idea but the rest of him was too busy not thinking to pay much attention. 

He took the teleporter to the entrance of the Batcave and simply strolled in. Bruce’s proximity alarms would have already alerted him to Clark’s presence. He was surprised to find Bruce in the Cave, scrolling through computer files with a trackball of all things.

“I haven’t seen one of those since the 90s,” Clark said smiling as he placed his fingers over Bruce’s on the large central ball.

Bruce slid his hand out from under Clark’s. “It helps with the limited mobility,” he explained.

Clark amused himself for several seconds by spinning the trackball wildly, watching the cursor dart over Bruce’s multiple screens. Bruce watched him with a half annoyed smile, stretching his back as he let Clark play.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bruce asked, then grew awkward as he realised what he had just said.

Clark had to pause for some seconds as he sorted through a surprising amount of inappropriate replies until he found what he actually wanted to say. Well, what he  _ should _ say. 

“I’ve brought the notes from our weekly Founders meeting,” Clark handed the notes to Bruce, both of them careful not to drop them. “Diana was hoping to get your opinion.”

Bruce smiled wryly. “That’s nice to hear, considering how often Diana tells me I have too many opinions,” he said, his tone desert dry.

Clark laughed and felt his agitation drop away. And just like that, without a trace of fanfare, the thought that Clark had been so desperately trying not to have was there. Quiet, unobtrusive and utterly indisputable in its perfect certainty.

_ I’m in love with Bruce. _

It should have been a revelation. It was simply a fact. The sun rose in the east, set in the west and Clark loved Bruce. That’s all there was to it. 

Clark pulled his hand away from the trackball, let it drop to his side. Bruce noticed his sudden change in demeanor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his arm shifting as though he had meant to reach out then thought better of it.

To avoid doing something stupid Clark did something else only slightly less stupid. “Have you been feeling… restless at all?” 

Bruce’s shoulders seemed to stiffen, his eyes dropping back to the screens before them both. Clark had long seconds to worry that the difference of this stupid had been too slight. 

“Maybe a little.” The voice was low, carefully neutral.

Clark’s heart unclenched. “Did you want to do something about that?” he asked, matching Bruce’s tone.

There was another long moment, but Clark found this easier to bear. Even if Bruce said no the true disaster had been avoided. Clark hadn’t said something he could never take back. Something that Bruce would never want to hear.

“I thought the whole point of. This. Was that I  _ can’t _ do something about it,” Bruce said, his tone still neutral but with a smile hidden behind it.

Clark didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Would you like  _ me _ to do something about it?” he asked, unable to keep his voice from sounding hopeful.

Bruce’s smile was crooked and he turned to look up at Clark. “Well, since you bring it up.”

“It’s not the only thing I can bring up,” Clark joked just to make Bruce groan.

With both of them laughing Clark moved between Bruce and the console, Bruce spreading his knees to give him room. He leaned a hand on Bruce’s thigh, pushing it slightly wider just because he could and leaned over Bruce. 

Bruce lifted up his hips to shuck down his sweatpants, lifting Clark in the process. Although not his full weight it turned Clark on to no end that Bruce was just casually hoisting him up. With his dick free Bruce settled back into the chair while Clark enjoyed the flexing of his thigh.

Even though he’d already had his hands on it twice before Clark could not get over the sight of Bruce’s cock. It swelled readily, despite the chill air of the Cave. Clark felt his mouth water and wondered if he could get away with offering to suck him.

But Clark was fairly certain he’d already used up his dumb moves for today, so all he did was reach down and wrap Bruce in a grip that had already become second nature to him. Bruce’s hips jolted. 

Clark loved how responsive Bruce always was, his body like an instrument waiting for someone to make it sing. And Clark had always wanted to be a musician.

He stopped his hand to undulate his fingers, milking Bruce’s cock. Bruce let out a breath that dragged some voice out with it, a sound that was small and so very wanting it made Clark’s cock twitch. 

Unable to stop himself Clark tipped forward until his head was resting on Bruce’s shoulder, never taking his eyes off of where his hand was working Bruce mercilessly. Bruce made a surprised sound as Clark leaned into him but he didn’t protest the contact. Clark was glad. He didn’t think he could control his expression if he kept watching Bruce’s face.

One of Bruce’s hands rose, his fingers gripping at the slippery material of Clark’s suit. His head turned towards Clark’s, pressing their cheeks together. Clark closed his eyes to soak in the feeling of Bruce all around him, his scent, his heat, the sound of the blood rushing through his veins, while his hand never stopped moving.

Fuck he was in trouble.

As if to emphasise the point Clark pulled his hand away to lick the taste of Bruce from his palm. He’d been unable to keep himself from doing so last time, unable to fight the bone deep  _ need _ . Bruce was wet enough to not need extra moisture so there was really no excuse. But Clark had done it anyway. And he did it again, just so he could roll the taste of Bruce around in his mouth as he jerked him off.

“Shit. When you do that.” The words were quiet, seemingly unconsciously said.

“Yeah,” Clark said huskily, no idea what that he even meant.

Bruce was breathing deeply in that way that meant he was going to come. And the idea that Clark knew what Bruce’s breathing sounded like when he was orgasming was so surreal. Clark kept his grip strong and sped his hand to just below superspeed.

“Ah fuck!” Bruce gasped, throwing his head back as he came hard enough that it hit Clark’s chin.

Clark couldn’t hold back a pathetic whimper. He worked Bruce through the high, resisting the urge to press kisses into the exposed throat. Once Bruce untensed, falling into the satisfied slump of post orgasmic languor Clark pulled away. Sitting back against the console Clark was unable to keep the smile from his face as he watched Bruce come back to himself.

Bruce smiled back at Clark lazily, making his heart clench at the beauty of it. Then his eyes sharpened, his gaze dropping to Clark’s lap.

That’s when Clark remembered he was in his uniform. Never an outfit that had much in the way of modesty it was doing a very poor job of concealing exactly how much Clark enjoyed touching Bruce. Even the dance belt he wore underneath couldn’t hide the urgent press of his arousal.

They sat in silence for some time, Bruce looking shocked and Clark wishing he could fall through the floor and all the way down to the molten core of the Earth. Perhaps that would cool the humiliated blush from his cheeks.

Bruce, not taking his eyes away from the unwanning throb of Clark’s crotch, cleared his throat. “That,” he said and paused.

Clark waited for Bruce to say something distant and soul crushing. Perhaps he would suggest that this had gotten out of hand. That obviously Clark was getting something out of this that Bruce hadn’t been made aware of and that he wasn’t comfortable with. Perhaps he would just tell Clark to leave.

“That looks uncomfortable,” Bruce said finally, glancing up to give Clark a wry smile.

Clark felt the surprise on his face. He gapped down at Bruce, unsure of what he should do.

“I can’t really return the favour,” Bruce said, gesturing with his casts. “But perhaps there’s something else you’d like me to do?”

Clark’s mind stuttered as he contemplated everything he did want Bruce to do. That he wanted them to do together. Then he quickly dismissed them all. This wasn’t about him, it had never been about him. It had been about helping Bruce.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t-”

“Clark,” Bruce interrupted sharply. His eyes flashed like precious stones, strong and clear as diamond. “I’m offering.”

Looking into Bruce’s stubborn face Clark was swept by a wave of love so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet. How could he ever say no?

“You, ah, you just sit back,” Clark instructed, pulling down his tights and dance belt. His cock practically gasped with relief as it was freed. “I’ll just. Take in the view.”

Bruce did just that, lounging back languidly, tipping his head to the side to expose a long line of pale neck. His cock was still out, resting quietly in its thick dark patch of hair. His eyes were lazy with the afterglow, glittering with the lights of the monitors. He watched Clark with an intensity that felt like touch.

Clark gripped himself tightly, feeling unreal as he began stroking his cock in front of Bruce. His gaze couldn’t settle. He took in Bruce’s soft dick, the strong vee of his abdomen leading down to it. The tight, close fit of his shirt. The tops of his thighs and the thick scar tracing around the curve of one. His face, Bruce’s well known and beloved face. Watching Clark fuck his own fist.

“Not gonna. Be long,” Clark confessed, a self-deprecating smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“That’s fine,” Bruce said in a soothing rumble that made the hairs on the back of Clark’s arms stand up. “You do what you need to.”

Suddenly there was a foot tracing up the inside of Clark’s leg, teasing at the back of his knee, his inner thigh. Clark let out a strained whimper, his eyes falling shut of their own accord.

“That’s right,” Bruce said softly. “Take care of yourself. Show me what you like.”

Clark gasped, his hand flying now. He felt a thumb brushing his chin and his eyes snapped open. Bruce was wiping away the splash of come that had hit Clark’s face. He smiled into Clark’s eyes and said, “Just look at you.” Before licking his own come away. 

Clark ground his teeth together to keep from screaming in Bruce’s face as he came. That image was going to be burned into his mind for the rest of his life, Bruce’s laughing eyes never leaving Clark’s, his pink tongue lapping against his thumb.

Clark shuddered through his orgasm, far more intense from just touching himself than it had any right to be. His stomach clenched repeatedly, hips rolling into his own fist, as he stared helplessly into Bruce’s face.

Finally unable to take any more Clark dropped his head, panting down at where he could see his own come splattered on the floor. He had no idea how he was ever going to have a sexual encounter that could top this one and Bruce hadn’t even touched him.

Eventually Bruce shuffled himself back into his sweatpants. It was still very chilly in the Batcave. Clark followed suit, tucking himself in awkwardly, the tight press of fabric not particularly comfortable against his still sensitive cock.

Bruce rolled away on his chair to a set of drawers. He fumbled in the lowest drawer for a while before pulling out a large pack of wet wipes. He rolled back over to Clark, offering the wipes before taking one himself and wiping at the floor.

Clark cleaned his hands slowly, unsure where they would go from here. “I’m sorry,” Clark said to his hands.

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce said gruffly. Clark glanced up and Bruce gave him a crooked smile. “It happens.”

Clark wasn’t sure what the repetition of his own words from three weeks ago meant, if they meant anything. But he hoped it meant Bruce knew that Clark had wanted to be kind when he had offered to help. And that it meant Bruce wanted to be kind now.

He smiled back at Bruce, his heart warm in his chest. Then he spotted the notes, thankfully untouched by this little escapade.

“Um, you can take your time with those notes. Just, you know, get back to us before next week if you can,” Clark said, nodding towards the small stack of paper.

Bruce laughed but nodded. “You know you could have just called me? Sent an email?” he suggested through the laughter.

Clark suddenly realised what Diana had been trying to say back at the Tower. She must have thought he was an idiot. “Oh. Yeah,” Clark said lamely.

“Of course I do appreciate the  _ hand  _ delivery,” Bruce said, the smile hidden from his face but not his voice.

Did he just? “Did you just pun first?” Clark asked with mock disbelief. Bruce looked smug. “I can’t believe you would steal my pun moment!”

“Jealous,” Bruce decreed, seemingly very pleased with himself.

“Heck yes I am,” Clark agreed willingly.

Both of them laughed and moved naturally into the discussion of the meeting notes. As they talked Clark found himself with a spark of hope that he hadn’t just completely fucked up everything.


	4. Week Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry, did I wake you?” Bruce asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read any of my other fics you're probably surprised at how long it took for there to be dirty talk.
> 
> So, I'm tentatively suggesting that this fic is going to have seven chapters. I phrase it like that because, as I've said multiple times in the comments, I'm a massive flake. So while I still make no promises, it is my hope to write this thing to the finish.

It had been one  _ hell _ of a week for Clark. Luthor had been apparently snorting something -cocaine or caffeine pills, Clark couldn’t decide- because he was rolling out ridiculous plots like it was going out of fashion. Mr Mxyzptlk had shown up and that was just. The worst. And Toyman had obviously been binging Japanese horror over the weekend because he started the week by releasing a massive amount of incredibly creepy wind up dolls with long black hair that made eerie croaking groans.

Needless to say Clark was more than done with this week. Possibly this month. And the next one too while he was at it. In fact Clark was one more over-blown villainous plot away from calling early retirement.

He had finally tied up what was hopefully Luthor’s last plan for the next few days, involving a fucking shrink ray of all things, and had managed to fall into his apartment, strip off his uniform and collapse onto his bed.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, and only realised he had done so after the sound of his phone ringing woke him. 

“M’ello?” he slurred into the handset.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Bruce’s voice, Bruce’s beautiful soothing voice, traveled through the line and into Clark’s grateful ear. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’m glad to hear your voice,” Clark said, his filters apparently not able to wake up as fast as his mouth.

“I figured you’ve been having a rough week,” Bruce said with a hint of amusement.

Clark groaned and rubbed at one sleepy eye. “You said it,” he agreed, making Bruce laugh. The sound sent a warm syrupy feeling through Clark’s stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Bruce asked.

Clark grinned sleepily. “Nah. Actually I wish you were here in bed with me.” As Clark uttered the last word his brain finally woke up enough to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

The silence on the other end of the line seemed to confirm his fears. Suddenly more awake than he wanted to be Clark waited for the dial tone. 

But instead he heard Bruce say, “What would you do if I were?”

Clark’s heart started battering against his ribcage. Was this happening? “Um, if you were?” he repeated stupidly.

“If you want to tell me,” Bruce said, his tone one of rapid backpedaling. 

Clark swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’d like to hold you,” he said, his voice suddenly thick and low.

“Yeah?” Bruce said, his voice matching Clark’s immediately.

“Yeah, I’d like to hold you against me, feel your body with mine,” Clark said, spreading a hand over his chest. His heart beat hard against it, a nervous high five.

Bruce sounded like he was smiling. “I’d like that.”

Clark felt like he was on fire, felt like there was molten liquid in his belly, pooling in his crotch.

“You know what else I’d like?” Bruce asked teasingly. There was the sound of a chair creaking and Clark had a moment to wonder where Bruce was making this call from. “I’d like to strip you naked.”

Clark gave a breathless laugh. “I’m already naked,” he confessed.

Bruce pulled in a gasp at that. Then hummed like he was thinking of something delicious. “Are you now? Well well,” his tone was almost proud.

“Naked and alone,” Clark said mock pitifully, making Bruce laugh huskily. Then added, “And thinking of you.”

Bruce hummed again. “Does that make you hard?” he asked and Clark could almost feel the hot caress of his breath against his ear.

Clark whimpered. “Yeah,” he said shakily.

Bruce chuckled, sending delicious shivers down Clark’s spine. “I want you to touch yourself, gently. I want you to take your time, treat yourself. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking about while you do it.”

Clark let out a loud groan, hand already wrapping around his cock before Bruce had finished speaking. “You,” he gasped as he began to tug, forcing himself to move slow and easy. “I’m thinking about touching you. About the heat of your cock and how good it feels in my hands.”

Bruce hummed encouragement. “It feels so good when you touch me, Clark.”

“Yeah?” Clark asked, a note of insecurity in his voice that he wasn’t able to suppress.

“Mmhmm,” Bruce hummed, low and warm. “You’re so good with your hands. So generous with your touch. I want you to give that attention and care to yourself, Clark. Take care of yourself like you do me. Do you like having your nipples played with?”

Clark let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” his voice hitched as he pressed his thumb against his slit. “I love it. Could come just from that.”

Bruce cursed quietly, his voice distancing as though he had pulled away from the phone. Then he was back, close and hot in Clark’s ear. “Then I want you to take your other hand and start playing with them. Gently. I want you to take this nice and slow.”

Clark reached up and pinched one nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, squeezing lightly. The phone, pressed between his cheek and shoulder, threatened to slip away from Clark’s sweating skin.

“Mm, that sounds nice,” Bruce said as Clark moaned breathlessly. “How does it feel?”

“So good,” Clark gasped. “Wish it were you doing it, though.”

“You’re still thinking about me?” Bruce asked, almost sounding surprised.

Clark let out a breathless laugh. “Haven’t been able to stop recently.” Another quiet curse from Bruce’s end. “The way you look when you come. That last time. Licking your thumb.” Clark’s hand started to speed up.

“Ah ah ah, nice and slow now,” Bruce said, no doubt hearing the slap of flesh on flesh, the sound of Clark pleasuring himself. The idea made both of Clark’s hands clench tight, strangling a moan out him.

“Can’t help it. You’re too hot,” Clark confessed, obeying anyway.

“Mmm, are you thinking about fucking me?” Bruce asked, startling a surprised sound out of Clark. He laughed and said, “I guess not.”

“Well, I am now!” Clark said scandalised.

Bruce laughed some more. “I  _ want _ you to think about it. Think about throwing my legs over your shoulders and sliding into my tight arse. Think about my face as you thrust that perfect cock of yours into me and make me squirm. Your cock is so beautiful Clark. When I watched you jerk off last time all I could think about was how good it would look inside of me.”

Clark was panting too loudly, it was hard to hear what Bruce was saying. “Please,” Clark whined.

“Or think about wrapping your legs around my hips, about my fingers pressing into you one by one. You’re always so warm Clark, you’d be like a furnace inside. Imagine my expression, biting my lip, unable to look away as my fingers open you up for my cock. Think about me pressing my dick against your hole, pushing in. A slow smooth slide.”

“Oh fuck, Bruce,” he gasped. “I can’t. I’m not gonna last.”

“Yeah that’s it,” Bruce said hotly, urgently. “Let me hear how I make you feel, Clark. Let me hear how you sound when we’re fucking.”

“Oh fuck. Oh Bruce, oh fuck!” Clark was so close. He squeezed his nipple until it bruised, wishing it would stay that way, knowing it would heal all too soon. Stripping away the physical proof this had happened.

“Do it,” Bruce breathed, his voice almost a prayer. “I want to hear you come, Clark.”

Then Clark was letting out a sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his belly as he pumped shot after shot all over himself. He was gasping something that might have been Bruce’s name as his orgasm rolled through him, scalp to soles, in glorious waves.

Afterwards Clark collapsed bonelessly, the phone sliding away from his ear. He panted at his ceiling, waiting for his vision to unfuzz and his heart to stop racing. When he had gathered himself somewhat he picked up the phone again.

“Fuck,” he said conversationally and Bruce laughed heartily.

“That sounded very nice, Clark,” he said warmly. Clark was smiling like an idiot and was grateful Bruce couldn’t see how ridiculous he must look. “So you enjoyed yourself?” As though that could be in question.

“Yeah, I had fun,” Clark said with mock casualness to make Bruce laugh again.

“Are you feeling restored from your shitty week?”

“If you did this every time I had a stupid hectic week I feel like I could save the whole world every single day,” Bruce laughed once more but this was probably the most honest thing Clark had said to anyone.

“Well, if you’re feeling more relaxed I’ll just let you get back to sleep,” Bruce said, seemingly ready to hang up.

“Wait, what about-” Clark started, half sitting at his sudden realisation. “Shit Bruce, your arms! You can’t…” Clark trailed off, because Bruce’s broken arms were the whole reason they were here in the first place.

Bruce chuckled warmly. “You’ll just have to make it up to me won’t you?” he said, his voice so full of dirty possibility that Clark almost got hard again.

“Oh I’ll make it up to you,” Clark said with determination. “I promise.”

“You promise, huh?” Bruce’s voice sounded so fond it made Clark’s heart clench, even though he was sure Bruce was laughing at him. “Then I look forward to it.”

As usual Bruce hung up with no goodbyes. The hand holding his phone fell away from Clark’s ear as he lay in the middle of his mussed bed feeling better than he had in far too long. Not wanting to move out of the cozy bubble he was in, Clark lasered away the come on his belly then, squirming under the covers, fell into a deeply satisfied sleep.


	5. Week Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark asked, “Do you have tape and plastic bags?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So of course as soon as I actually commit myself to something I get a migraine and can't do anything for three days except be in pain and lie around with my eyes covered. THEN of course I had to convince myself to actually start writing again instead of just playing Animal Crossing. Of course.

It was the end of a long day, almost the start of a new one, and Bruce had been reading the same sentence for the last five minutes. When he finally realised that was what he was doing he decided maybe it was time for a break. He stood, stretching and cracking his joints before heading to the kitchen for a warm drink.

Beverage in hand and heading back to the lounge where he had been not-working Bruce heard his phone ping. A text from Clark. Just seeing his name made Bruce’s middle transform into a warm slush, the feeling so pleasant he couldn’t even condemn himself as a sentimental fool.

_ Can I come over? _ it read.

Bruce had barely hit send on his affirmative reply before Clark was knocking at the door. Bruce, already heading there, answered it quickly. He found Clark on his doorstep, smiling and bright. The feeling of warmth spread into Bruce’s face and he realised he was probably blushing horribly, but he couldn’t keep his own smile away as Clark came inside.

The distance between them seemed miniscule and vast as Clark moved close enough to touch but then did not.

They hadn’t seen each other since Bruce had lost his mind and whispered everything he had been trying not to think of since this. Arrangement? Had begun into Clark’s ear through the phone. As much as Clark had sounded like he had also enjoyed these private musings, Bruce had spent the week since then quietly freaking out that Clark was never going to speak to him again.

But here he was. Smiling like Bruce was someone worth smiling at and standing close enough that they were breathing each other’s air.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Clark said, his look one of uncertain mischief.

“You?” Bruce joked.

Clark chuckled and continued, “Have you had a real shower recently?”

“Do I stink?” Bruce asked, his tone still light but not quiet joking.

Clark leaned his face into Bruce’s neck, still not touching and said, “You smell amazing.” A deep inhale before he sighed, “You always smell amazing.”

Bruce blushed some more, want running up and down his spine. “I’ve been getting by with sponge baths,” he admitted, turning his cheek towards Clark’s.

Clark pulled back to look into Bruce’s face once again and asked, “Do you have tape and plastic bags?”

So, Clark had undressed Bruce, slowly and with obvious relish, covered his casts to keep them dry, then steered him into the shower. The water was just a little too hot, exactly how Bruce liked it and he didn’t know if it was a testament to how obvious he was or how observant Clark was that Clark got the temperature exactly right on the first try.

Then, delightfully, Clark had stripped as well and gotten in with Bruce.

“Hi,” he said as he stepped into misty space with Bruce, smiling somewhat shyly.

“Hello there,” Bruce replied, feeling the satisfied curl of his mouth.

Grabbing up a cloth Clark had lathered indulgent amounts of body wash onto it before spinning Bruce around and starting to wash his back. He pressed deep and firm, a massage as well as a wash. Bruce couldn’t contain the sounds the perfect pressure caused him to make and Clark chuckled in a self-satisfied way.

It was the first time they were naked around each other with intent. Bruce felt his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he kept sneaking glances over his shoulder at Clark’s body. It glistened from the spray of the water, real and perfect. Bruce’s mouth felt dry at the thought of getting to touch Clark properly.

As soon as his casts were off he was going to throw Clark down and touch him until his hands were glutted with the sensation of that incomparable body.

Bruce caught himself. As soon as his casts were off there was no way Clark was going to let this keep happening. This had started because Clark was too kind for his own good, and while Bruce was glad that Clark seemed to be enjoying the situation as well, he had no doubt that as soon as he was able to take care of his own needs again it was going to stop.

Pushing away that though, and ignoring how utterly desolate it made him feel, Bruce focused on Clark’s hands on his body. As distractions went it was by far the best Bruce had ever had the pleasure of exploiting.

Clark crouched behind him to run the cloth over his legs, getting him to balance so he could clean each foot thoroughly. The feel of his breath, dry and cool compared to the humid air, against his lower back was so tantalising, so suggestive that Bruce’s cock swelled until it throbbed.

Still crouching Clark washed his arse, bringing up his other hand to cup and press both cheeks as he cleaned. Bruce was letting out more uncontrollable noises as Clark massaged and caressed. Suddenly, Clark leaned forward and dropped a kiss to Bruce’s tailbone, a move so tender and intimate that Bruce’s throat closed around the small, grateful sound he wanted to make.

Then he was standing, turning Bruce around and starting to wash his front with the same care and focus, though he very deliberately avoided Bruce’s hard cock.

Bruce squirmed, begging wordlessly for Clark to stop teasing. But Clark just smiled at him and continued washing. As he did, he looked at Bruce’s wreck of body like it was something beautiful, caressed it like it was something precious. Treating Bruce like he was something, someone worth taking care of. 

Bruce felt his heart in his throat as he watched Clark watching him. He was going to be utterly ruined for anyone else after this. After having Clark focus all his kindness and passion on him Bruce would never be able to have any other sex. Nothing could compare.

Finally Clark set the cloth aside. Bruce waited breathlessly for his hands to return. But then Clark picked up the shampoo bottle, squeezing out a generous dollop and Bruce groaned with frustration.

“You’re killing me, Clark,” he said, not without amusement.

“I’m  _ cleaning _ you, Bruce,” Clark responded primly, making Bruce laugh. 

Clark smiled, looking pleased with himself as he always did when he made Bruce laugh. He reached up and started massaging the shampoo through Bruce’s thick hair. Bruce groaned delightedly and let his eyes slide shut. Though he complained, though his cock was pulsing insistently between his thighs, the feel of Clark massaging his scalp was its own kind of orgasmic.

Bruce never let anyone take care of him, fought them tooth and nail if they tried, but he couldn’t fight Clark’s hands. They broke through his compulsion to protect everyone from not only the evils of the world but from the inconvenience of Bruce’s needs. Those hands, so strong, so gentle, seemed to know innately, instinctually how to touch him, how to strip him down and lay him out until he felt at home in his own body again.

It was terrifying, it was exhilarating, it was everything Bruce hadn’t known he was missing. It wasn’t going to last. But rather than dwell on that Bruce just gave himself over to Clark, trusting him to be as gentle letting Bruce go as he was while holding him.

Tilting him under the spray to wash the suds from his hair, Clark grabbed up the conditioner. Apparently he was going to be as thorough as he could, possibly because he loved to drive Bruce crazy. 

Bruce watched Clark’s face from under his lashes as he ran his hands over Bruce’s scalp once more. The look on his face was so close to loving that Bruce felt his heart stutter.

“Now,” Clark said, moving Bruce’s head away from the spray. “That needs to sit for a while.” Bruce opened his mouth to protest but Clark continued, “So what can we do while we wait?”

The mischievous glimmer was back in Clark’s eyes as he rested his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce felt himself smile in return as Clark’s half hard cock brushed his own aching one.

“What indeed?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of expectation.

Smiling, meeting Bruce’s eyes whenever he could, Clark started to suck kisses over Bruce’s skin. He played teeth and tongue over the steady pulse in Bruce’s neck, before mouthing at collarbones. He nipped at nipples, and sucked at his abdomen. He came slowly to his knees again, his face level with Bruce’s frankly desperate cock.

“Please tell me this is going where I hope it is,” Bruce breathed as Clark paused, looking up at him for permission. As though Bruce wasn’t desperate to get Clark’s beautiful mouth around his dick.

“It isn’t obvious?” Clark asked, smiling.

“You know what they say when you assume,” Bruce responded, wishing he could cup the curve of Clark’s cheek.

Clark laughed, the sound making Bruce’s heart so tender it felt bruised. Then he leaned forward and stuck out his tongue to curl it around the head of Bruce’s cock. He weighed it there for a moment, looking amused by Bruce’s no doubt awestruck expression, then sucked it into his mouth.

Bruce almost cracked his casts trying to clutch at the wall as Clark pulled a long, deep suck around the very tip of his cock. Clark cupped his balls, rolling and squeezing, in one hand, and pressed two fingers of the other behind them. He slipped his fingers back further, humming in question as he pressed lightly against Bruce’s hole.

Bruce nodded, gasping something that wasn’t words, his thighs trembling, his hips twitching. Clark smiled with his eyes and pressed harder, not entering but teasing at the tight furl, pulsing his fingertip against it maddeningly.

Then Clark was pressing forward, swallowing him down without effort. Bruce would have been annoyed at the blatant showoff if he hadn’t been the happy recipient of Clark’s skill. With his nose pressed into Bruce’s abdomen Clark held, sucking, swallowing around the tip of Bruce’s dick, smiling up at him with his eyes. 

The finger at his entrance started to press harder and Bruce whined. He shuffled his legs wider, pressing back, seeking penetration. The pressure grew just enough, the very tip of Clark’s finger finally starting to stretch him open. Then Clark was pulling back, off, away. 

Bruce let out a bark of frustration. Clark laughed.

“Time to rinse,” he said with far too much satisfaction.

“To think all this time Superman was a sadist.” The effect of Bruce’s grumble was ruined by the rattle of plastic bags as he tried to grasp at Clark’s hair, to pull him back to Bruce’s cock. Clark laughed some more and Bruce said, “ _ Please _ , Clark.”

He must have sounded pathetic because Clark rubbed his thighs comfortingly, saying, “Alright, Bruce, alright. I’ve got you.”

Clark jerked him a few times, that perfect pressure, that unhurried speed, like Clark had nowhere to be, had nowhere he wanted to be but here. Touching Bruce. And then Clark was suckling at the tip again, tongue attacking every spot that made Bruce squirm.

The finger was probing his entrance again, teasing pressure with no actual stretch. Bruce growled and thumped Clark’s shoulder with his cast.

“Stop messing around and finger fuck me already,” he demanded shamelessly.

Clark let out a sound like an impact and his other hand, that had been resting on Bruce’s hip, flew down to his own cock. At the same time he finally let his finger slip inside of Bruce, all the way in a single slow slide that felt like everything Bruce had been missing.

With single minded determination Clark found and relentlessly stroked his prostate. It was so intense Bruce had been in danger of falling with no hands to support himself. Clark’s other hand came up, held him up, and Clark pulled back to ask, “Too much?”

Bruce shook his head savagely. “Please. Just like that,” he gasped.

Clark grinned, nodded and swallowed Bruce down. Then pulled back to suck at the head. Then back down, nose buried in Bruce’s pubic hair. The rhythm continued unbroken, Clark taking Bruce all the way back into his throat, swallowing thickly a few times, before pulling almost all the way off to caress the tip with perfect suction and dancing tongue.

Bruce’s thighs trembled, trapped between the two sensations. And as Clark reached down to fist his own cock again Bruce felt the tremble travel up his spine as he started to come. He gasped, rocking helplessly between finger and mouth as he pumped Clark’s mouth full of his come.

His ears filled with a rushing sound that could have been the shower or could have been the blood racing through his veins. Clark never relented, mercilessly pushing him through an orgasm that left him shaking and gasping and possibly seeing god in the white spots behind his eyes.

Clark gently pulled away, both his hands coming to support Bruce at his hips. He grinned up at Bruce like he’d just done a neat trick. Bruce supposed he had. Making someone come until they saw stars was a pretty neat trick.

“Sorry,” Bruce wheezed, trying to regain his senses. He waved vaguely between his very spent dick and Clark’s mouth. “I should have warned you.”

Clark grinned some more, saying, “Don’t be. That was hot.”

Then Clark was sitting back on his heels, leaning back on one arm. His very hard cock throbbed in a way that looked vaguely painful. Clark took it in hand and began stripping it eagerly. Bruce still found it hard to believe Clark’s current arousal was the result of touching him. But it was difficult to deny as he watched Clark kneeling before him, desperately wanking.

“So hot,” Clark gasped, his hand almost a blur on his own cock. “Bruce.”

Bruce felt something like and nothing like arousal pool in his belly at the sound of Clark breathing his name while touching himself. He reached out a foot and pressed Clark’s balls up against the base of his dick.

Clark whined, his hips circling. Then he was coming over the shower floor, head tilted back, his neck a long golden line. He tipped forwards as he finished, resting his forehead on Bruce’s hip in an unconscious gesture of affection that made Bruce’s heart sore. He wished once again that he had free hands so he could stroke Clark’s hair while he recovered.

He settled for resting his covered casts on Clark’s shoulders, the plastic rattling loudly in the shower spray.

After some time Clark rose. He rinsed Bruce’s hair, still taking the time to massage and caress, giving Bruce no chance to come out of his post-orgasmic haze. Then he pulled Bruce wilting out of the shower stall and dried him thoroughly but gently. He located Bruce’s hairdryer and used it to remove any water from his hair. He dragged Bruce, who was feeling decidedly sleepy by this point, into his bedroom, poured him into a pair of pajamas and settled him into bed. 

“Did that make it up?” he asked quietly, sitting on the bedside.

Bruce grinned sleepily. “It’ll do,” he said dryly, making Clark laugh softly. Drifting off he slurred, “Sorry t’be a bad host.”

“I can let myself out,” Clark reassured him, stroking Bruce’s hair away from his face.

Bruce was sure he must have already fallen asleep because the feeling of Clark placing a tender kiss on his forehead before rising from the bed and leaving had to be a dream.


	6. Week Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Got anything on?” he asked, brushing imaginary lint off the knee of his suit pants.
> 
> “Not really,” Clark said casually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I honestly have no excuse for how long this took. I was having trouble, then it got easier, then I just stopped working on it. But I came back and finished it eventually. So here it is, despite myself.

Bruce was just home from a lunch gathering of various Gotham glitterati, having convinced more than one of them to put money towards various charitable ends. If he had to explain to one more rich narcissist how helping people not die unnecessarily was “a good tax cut” he was going to write a formal letter of apology to Poison Ivy and Catwoman both for not helping them in their more unconventional charity collection.

Bruce sighed deeply, loosening his tie and leaning back on the poolside lounge he had wandered out to after getting back to the Manor. The sky was almost painfully blue and the water of the pool swallowed the horizon, an unbroken reflection of clear heavens creating an endless vista from above to below.

Gazing sightlessly into the water Bruce’s attention was brought out of himself by movement reflected in the pool. Drifting down from above, his cape fluttering about his feet, came Superman. Bruce was smiling before he could stop himself.

“You look nice,” Clark said, his cheeks flushed from the wind while flying.

“Socialite-ing for justice,” Bruce said smiling half-heartedly, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What did you say about the casts?” Clark asked. He hovered a little lower, letting Bruce see him without the sun in his eyes.

“Rock climbing accident,” Bruce said with a shrug. “What brings you to Gotham?”

“I was helping Oliver out in Star City,” Clark said, which wasn’t really an answer. Clark could reach Metropolis from Star City by going over Gotham but it wasn’t the most direct route. Bruce raised an eyebrow, not bothering to point out what they both knew.

Clark grinned a little sheepishly but admitted nothing. Bruce ended up speaking first. “Got anything on?” he asked, brushing imaginary lint off the knee of his suit pants.

“Not really,” Clark said casually.

“So are you going to sit down or just hover like a government helicopter?” Bruce said with a grin.

Clark laughed and dropped down the remaining few feet. But rather than sitting on the lounge next to Bruce he straddled him. Suddenly with a lapful of grinning Superman Bruce felt like the day had gotten significantly better. 

Clark leaned forwards, pressing his face into Bruce’s neck. Running his hands up and down Bruce’s chest Clark sucked kisses against Bruce’s pulse. Bruce groaned, delighted and stymied at the same time.

“You don’t even know how frustrating it is that I can’t touch you,” Bruce grumbled, tracing the logo on Clark’s chest with his fingertips.

Clark pulled back to grin cheekily at him. “I kind of like it,” he said, unbuttoning Bruce’s top three buttons. “It forces you to take what I give you.”

Bruce’s cock lurched in his pants, the rush of blood downwards making his head spin. “Kinky,” he said, trying to keep his tone joking.

Clark ducked his head, embarrassed. “Not like that,” he said then added, with a quirk to his lips, “Not _entirely_ like that.”

Bruce raised a brow, waiting for more. But Clark just leaned back in and resumed kissing Bruce’s neck. Not really willing to push, not when Clark might stop touching, Bruce let it go. He leaned back and took what Clark gave him.

Which was sucking kisses down his throat and to his chest. Clark unbuttoned some more, exposing Bruce’s nipples to suck and nip. Bruce let out a satisfied sound, running fingertips over the nape of Clark’s neck. 

The warm sun on his face and the soft kisses to his chest felt somehow both obscene and wholesome. Even though he knew perfectly well there was no chance to be seen, the Manor grounds were expansive and isolated, there was a certain thrill to doing this outside.

“I really want to suck your cock,” Bruce said, his voice low, almost intimate.

Clark whined, high and desperate. He pulled back to look into Bruce’s face. “But I want to suck you,” he said, looking torn.

Bruce laughed and traced Clark’s face, temple to chin, with a forefinger. “Well, those things aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said smiling.

Clark bit his lip, holding in an excited smile. “Yeah?” he asked. Bruce could already feel Clark stirring against his leg.

“Yeah,” Bruce said and shifted so Clark could fit beside him.

Clark abandoned Bruce’s shirt half undone to open his pants, pulling them and underwear together down around Bruce’s thighs, before shucking his own tights. Then he lay down, enthusiastically pressing his nose into Bruce’s crotch.

Clark nosed at Bruce’s balls, sucking one and then the other into his mouth. He moaned around them with great satisfaction, the vibrations making Bruce’s toes curl. One hand started jacking Bruce lazily as Clark continued to lavish attention on his sac.

Bruce took his time, having never had the chance to get intimate with Clark’s cock until now. He sucked at the base, nosed at the thatch of hair around it. He sucked a kiss into the crease of Clark’s hip, inhaling deeply. 

Once again Bruce wished the casts off. There was something oddly divorced about not being able to touch with his hands. A strange sense of disconnect. But he was certainly more than willing to try to make it up with his mouth. He sucked the head of Clark’s dick into his mouth, relishing the biological taste.

Clark fed Bruce’s cock into his throat, swallowing around it in heavy gulps. Bruce had to pull away, gasping and biting at Clark’s thigh, surprised at how quickly he felt overwhelmed considering how often this had been happening lately. Then again Bruce thought he could never become complacent when it came to Clark.

Bruce dove back in, bobbing his head halfway down Clark's dick, pulling back to tease the head then pushing back down a little further. He repeated that rhythm until his nose was pressed against Clark's body and his throat was full of cock. 

Clark pulled away to gasp. Bruce wondered if he was actually physically breathless or if it was purely mental. Either way the idea that he could affect Clark so strongly was gratifying. "Fuck, Bruce. You're so good at that," he said breathlessly, pressing kisses to his thighs. 

Bruce hummed his agreement, making Clark laugh breathlessly before he returned to his place around Bruce's dick. And, oh Bruce liked that idea. That Clark's place was here, pleasuring Bruce. Being pleasured by Bruce. 

If he were being honest with himself (never) Bruce would have to admit this was the closest he had felt to home in a long time. Here under the sun, intertwined with his best friend.

He started laughing and had to pull away for fear of biting Clark and breaking his teeth. Clark pulled back as well to smile at Bruce. Wrapping a hand around Bruce's cock and jacking him slowly he asked, "What's funny?" 

"I'm just. Really happy right now," Bruce admitted, surprising himself with honesty. 

Clark smiled, warm and kind and so genuinely pleased by Bruce's happiness. "Good," he said simply before returning his attention to Bruce's cock. 

Bruce shifted to explore further. He sucked on Clark’s balls for a moment before moving further back. It was difficult to get his tongue exactly where he wanted it without his hands but he managed to wriggle his face between Clark’s buttcheeks to lick at his hole.

Clark let out a wavering moan that made Bruce lose control of his hips momentarily, thrusting into Clark’s throat helplessly, pressing desperate sucking kisses against Clark’s arsehole. But when Bruce had calmed Clark made an annoyed sound, kneading Bruce’s arse tugging at his hips to get him rocking again. Bruce began a more gentle motion and Clark hummed his pleasure.

Bruce dug his fingers into Clark’s arse as best he could in his attempt to get his tongue as deep into Clark as he was physically able. He sucked and bit, hooking his tongue on the rim to tug at it. Clark squirmed helplessly under his tongue, pulling back to gasp more often now, making Bruce feel unbelievably smug.

A finger probed at Bruce’s own hole and he loudly groaned his assent. The finger pressed into him carefully, somewhat lubed by saliva, and already enough to send pleasure coursing up Bruce’s spine. Another tickled at his ring and Bruce groaned again.

The second finger was a little too much stretch with too little slick and it was perfect. Bruce stuttered between the two sensations, Clark’s wet throat and his thick fingers. He pulled back to moan, his mind unable to handle everything at once for a moment.

Then Clark’s other hand was on his head, the slightest pressure as Clark gasped, “Please, more. So close.”

Bruce dove back in, eating Clark’s arse like it was his job. Clark pressed his fingers in deep and sucked Bruce into his throat, moaning and pushing back onto Bruce’s face. The fingers inside Bruce unerringly found his sweet spot and pressed down. Unable to use his hands Bruce used teeth lips and tongue to pleasure Clark as well as he was able while rushing headlong into his own orgasm. 

Clark came first, letting out a high keening sound as he spurt over Bruce’s chest where it peeked out of his shirt. He ground back against Bruce’s face, chasing the high for as long as possible. Yet his hands and mouth were relentless.

His fingers were massaging Bruce’s prostate with tight circular motions as he pulled back to focus breathtaking attention to the head of Bruce’s dick. As Clark’s orgasm wound down, Bruce’s began, shaking him from deep inside. 

He muffled whatever words wanted to come pouring out of him at this very unguarded moment against Clark’s thigh, as he came and came and _came_ in Clark's mouth. Clark didn’t let up at all, milking him for all he was worth with fingers and tongue, moaning delightedly as his mouth was flooded.

Both of them lay gasping, sweaty and overheated in the afternoon sun. Neither seemed particularly willing to move however. Bruce actually felt like he could have taken a nap, wrapped in Clark’s thighs under the endless blue of the sky.

Eventually Clark shuffled around. He smiled at Bruce, sated and sweet. Then he leaned down and licked his own come off of Bruce’s chest. Bruce gave a pleased hum, stretching lazy and cat-like under the hot wet tongue that had worked so hard to get him off.

Finished licking Bruce clean, Clark sat and smiled down at him. With the sun behind him, lighting up his hair like a halo, Clark’s face was in shadow making it hard for Bruce to decipher his thoughts.

Bruce smiled back, a little tightly, feeling nervous. Clark stared for a moment longer, even took a breath as though he meant to speak, but eventually he just gave a little shake of his head. He tucked Bruce back into his pants, and pulled up his own tights. Then he lay down beside Bruce, staring up into the endless blue of the sky thoughtfully.

Bruce watched Clark’s face out of the side of his eye but he couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking. Perhaps the let down would be coming soon. His casts would be off soon and perhaps Clark was working out how to tell Bruce this couldn’t continue. 

With a feeling like his heart twisting around itself, like roots choking the life out of their own tree, Bruce set that thought aside. The ending of this. Involvement. Between them was inevitable. There was nothing Bruce could do to stop or slow its approach. All he could do was accept its coming and enjoy what time Clark was allowing him.

It hurt. But not nearly as much as losing Clark’s friendship would. There was nothing he valued more than their friendship. Nothing was more gratifying, not even (amazing, indescribable, phenomenal) sex.

Sighing, resigned to what was coming, Bruce closed his eyes and basked in the heat of the sun shining down on him and the heat of Clark at his side.


	7. And All the Weeks After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thank you all for your patience," Bruce said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for their beautiful comments and support, as well as all the kudos and people who even just checked this story out. I'm not sure if this ending will live up to expectations, if there are any, but I did try and make it satisfying. Hopefully I achieved that. 
> 
> Thank you again for following along with this silly self-indulgent story. I really hope you enjoy this final chapter.

“I thank you all for your patience while I was unavailable,” Bruce said, standing at the head of the table in the main Watchtower meeting room. An ominous black silhouette in a crowd of technicolour.

“You go anywhere fun?” asked Booster Gold, his chair tipped back and his feet propped on the tabletop.

Bruce just stared. After a moment Booster dropped his feet back to the floor, grinning sheepishly but generally unrepentant. Blue Beetle laughed and patted Booster on the arm sympathetically. After another moment Bruce said, “I didn’t do anything relevant to the League.”

“So you finally took that vacation,” Ollie said, sounding surprised but pleased. Now it was Green Arrow’s turn to be stared at and he threw up his hands, grinning. “Right, right. I forgot who I was talking to. Sorry for implying you might be a human being.”

Bruce, clearly unimpressed by this friendly ribbing, continued on to League business with no other mention of his time away. Two months in all, the six weeks in the casts and two weeks of the month he was supposed to take off afterwards. Clark had no idea how Alfred had managed to keep Bruce down even that long.

Bruce had texted Clark “Freedom!” as soon as the casts were off. Clark had replied, “Lol congrats :)” And that had been all the contact they’d had since then. This meeting was actually the first time Clark had seen Bruce since. Since the last time.

By the pool, the sun radiant, Bruce’s tongue in his arse. Clark felt himself flush. He really shouldn't be thinking about this during a meeting. Or at all. Bruce had given no indication that he wanted to continue  _ utilising Clark’s services _ , as it were, now his casts were off. Clark had wanted to ask but in the end he hadn’t.

Clark knew himself and he wouldn’t have been able to continue a sexual relationship with Bruce without eventually demanding things that Bruce couldn’t give. Whether he would mean to or not. And that wouldn’t be fair and it would definitely drive Bruce away. 

And more than sex, more than romantic love, Clark wanted Bruce with him. He wanted Bruce in his life for as long as he had. Clark wasn’t going to mess that up by pushing their relationship to a place Bruce didn’t want it to be.

So Clark resolved to simply let it be. If Bruce wanted to talk about it he would bring it up. Until that point Clark was just going to go back to how things were. In all honesty Bruce would more than likely be relieved. Bruce hated platitudes, hated unnecessary conversation. Rather than make a big deal out of anything he prefered for things to simply run smoothly. So Clark was going to run smoothly.

As he watched Bruce return with such easy grace to his position as team strategist Clark was filled with love and pride for his friend. He could do this; Clark could move on. 

Bruce heard himself speaking but knew he was going through the motions. Most of his attention was on Clark. He was sitting there smiling in that same warm way he always had. As though nothing were different. As though they hadn’t fucked. As though the fact of their physical intimacy hadn’t completely changed his world.

And obviously it hadn’t. It was very apparent that, for Clark, their sexual encounters had been a momentary break from the norm, a temporary insanity to help Bruce deal with his injuries. And now it was time to return to their friendship as usual. This little blip on the radar behind them, nothing more than yet another shared experience.

Bruce had no idea what to do. He wanted to follow Clark’s lead, he wanted to be able to move forward with him. He never wanted to make Clark uncomfortable. But he would. Bruce knew he would. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pushing Clark, it was just how he was. Without even meaning to, he would push until he got his own way. Which was a one way ticket to Clark hating him. 

Bruce could never live with that. He was going to have to keep himself from fucking this up completely. He was going to have to keep his distance.

After the meeting Clark approached Bruce, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly, and not completely lovesick, way. “Hey, did you want to grab a coffee? Catch up?” he asked, reminding himself not to stand too close.

The chorus of The Police’s famous song briefly played in his head and Clark smiled at his own dorkishness. But Bruce merely looked at him, his typically expressionless Batman face even more blank than usual.

“Actually, I’ve got to,” Bruce paused. Clark felt his heart clench. Was Bruce coming up with an excuse not to hang out? No. That couldn’t be what he was doing. They were friends. They were still friends. Right? “I’ve got a lot of stuff to catch up on here.”

“We can just have a quick one in the breakroom. I won’t take up too much of your time,” Clark said. He was starting to sound desperate to his own ears. But all he could think was please.  _ Please _ don’t be avoiding me.

“I’d really like to get it all done as soon as possible,” Bruce said apologetically.

“Okay,” Clark said, holding onto his smile as best he could. “Another time then.” 

Bruce nodded in a distracted way, moving off quickly. Clark watched him go, a sense of worry wanting to grow in the pit of his stomach. He was just being paranoid. Overly sensitive. It was fine. They were fine. 

“What’d you do to piss him off this time?” Booster asked, his tone only partly joking.

Clark grinned wanly. “Oh you know, the usual.”

Booster Gold laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Clark barely remembered to move so Booster wouldn’t bruise his hand.

Bruce fought the urge to go back and accept the coffee offer. He couldn’t give in to his own weakness. Until he could act like a real friend again, he had to keep himself from taking advantage of Clark’s kindness. Again.

He did have a lot to catch up on in the Tower, that hadn’t been a lie. It didn’t need to be done immediately, but Bruce needed the distraction. And as it always was, the work was there to help keep him from hurting those around him.

***

Clark saw Bruce at the Tower the next day, and asked again if he wanted to grab a quick coffee together. Again Bruce said he was busy. Then it seemed that Clark and Bruce were never there at the same time. Were never anywhere at the same time.

They were never scheduled to work together anymore either. It happened at times, Batman and Superman weren’t always teamed up. But it was generally acknowledged that they complemented each others’ work styles. That and the fact they lived so close to each other made them a fairly obvious and consistent team up. 

So it was weird that they hadn’t been matched for a few weeks now. It was weird for them to not at least see each other at the Tower. Clark was fairly sure he wasn’t being paranoid now. Bruce was avoiding him.

Clark wasn’t certain what he had done wrong. He had suspicions. But he was hoping to god that Bruce wasn’t avoiding him because they had had sex. Because if that was why… 

Clark couldn’t handle it if that was why. 

Generally, Clark tried to respect the privacy of others. He avoided eavesdropping as much as he physically could. But he was starting to feel pretty desperate. The worry had grown into full blown anxiety. He  _ needed _ to talk to Bruce. 

Bruce had been working hard to not run into Clark. Because every time he saw Clark’s face his heart would begin to trip over itself, his stomach would tie into knots and he would generally become such a mess that it was painfully obvious how pathetically not over Clark he was.

So Bruce was deeply unprepared when Clark started showing up seemingly everywhere. He would appear with that kind, loving smile asking Bruce how he was, if he wanted to grab dinner. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” Clark said, his smile growing small and brittle looking. “Not since…”

Clark had to be hearing Bruce’s heart rate immediately stumble into triple time. He had to escape. How do you keep a secret from a human lie detector? 

“I like keeping busy,” Bruce said quickly, turning back to the Watchtower monitors, utilising his breathing to calm his heart.

“But we usually make time for each other,” Clark said, moving closer and ruining all of Bruce’s hard work to calm down. Bruce shuffled, attempting to distract himself from Clark’s hand, resting so near his own on the monitor bank. “Is there anything I can help with? Lighten your load?”

Why the fuck did Clark have to be so goddamn kind? Bruce felt frustration almost eclipse his longing. He felt his jaw clenching tight as he tried to keep from screaming at Clark to just please,  _ please _ leave him alone. Until Bruce could control his traitor heart. Until Bruce could keep himself from ruining their friendship with his selfishness. 

Silence stretched out between them, trembling and fragile. Like Bruce’s heart. That thought, so scarily vulnerable, pushed Bruce’s frustration ahead of everything else he was feeling. He stood abruptly.

“I have to go,” he said, trying (failing?) to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

Despite his shift on monitor duty not ending for another hour, Bruce fled the room, hoping that the dramatic swirl of his cape made it look more like a powerful stride and less like a scared run. He might have fooled Clark but he certainly wasn’t fooling himself.

Bruce hid from Clark in one of the smaller meeting rooms, hating himself for so many reasons.

***

“Clark! For the love of whatever gods watch over journalists in the era of the 24 hour news cycle, can you  _ please _ stop.” Lois was clenching her ballpoint so hard it was amazing that it hadn’t broken already. It had happened before.

“What?” Clark asked distractedly. Then he realised he was bouncing both of his legs so hard it was as though he had pins and needles. He stilled them. “Sorry.”

“What is up with you lately?” Lois asked, partially genuine concern, partially genuine annoyance. “You’ve been more distracted than I’ve ever seen you.”

Clark sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. “I’ve just. There’s this friend of mine,” he said slowly.

“The one you’re in love with?” Lois said casually. Clark flinched.

“I never said-” he began.

“You never had to,” Lois interrupted. Her smirk was not unkind as she said, “If it’s that same guy you’ve been talking about for years now, you’ve never had to say anything. The look on your face is obvious.”

Clark felt his heart clench. Lois was at least as perceptive as Bruce and if she had noticed then Bruce must have as well. Fuck. No wonder Bruce was avoiding him. 

“So what happened with mister tall, dark and irksome?” Lois asked with a smile.

Clark couldn’t even attempt to smile back. “I think I’ve screwed up,” Clark confessed, feeling tears in the back of his throat.

“In what way?” Lois said, tucking the pen behind her ear and giving Clark her full attention.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” Clark said.

“You think? You haven’t asked?” Lois said, sounding more surprised than Clark thought that deserved.

“Well, he tends to be more subtle about things,” Clark said, trying not to sound too defensive.

“So?” Lois asked.

“So?” Clark repeated, confused.

“So, why are you playing to his strengths and not to yours?” Lois said, smiling warmly. “The direct approach is basically your pièce de résistance.”

Clark blushed a little, not knowing if he should be flattered or insulted. “Well I-”

“Seriously Clark, just ask him what’s wrong. You’ll find out faster that way.” Lois turned back to frown at her computer, the issue already resolved in her mind.

And Clark supposed it really was. If he wanted to know what was wrong, if anything  _ was _ wrong, the best way to know was to ask. Even if the idea scared him more than any villain, monster or intergalactic threat he had ever faced.

After work Clark headed straight to the Manor. Alfred answered his knock and informed him that Bruce was in the Cave. His look seemed to demand, in that polite Alfred way, what had taken Clark so long. Clark gave him an apologetic smile in return.

Coming down the stairs Clark didn’t bother calling ahead. He found Bruce already in the Batsuit, checking something on the monitors. Rather than come up beside him like normal, Clark stood back. Whether he wanted to give Bruce space or himself, he didn’t know.

There was silence, interrupted only by the soft click of the mouse. Bruce didn’t turn, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge Clark at all. Clark felt his hands shaking and curled them into fists.

The only way to know was to ask he reminded himself, before taking a long, steadying breath and speaking.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Clark demanded, proud of himself for not letting his voice break. 

Bruce still didn’t turn around, didn’t stop clicking. Clark felt his fear start to mutate into frustration. “Is it because we’ve had sex? Are you just. Done with me now? Do you not-” he hesitated, hating the cliche but needing to ask, “Do you not… respect me anymore?” His voice grew quiet as he said it.

Bruce stiffened, his clicking stopped. Slowly he drew his hands into his lap, seeming to recede into himself. His cape settled around him like a protective barrier.

“Or do you think I want too much now?” Clark kept hammering, hoping to find a crack in Bruce’s armour. A point of entrance that would let him into Bruce’s head. “I worked so hard to make sure everything went back to normal, to make sure I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I would never do anything to risk our friendship, I would never ask you for something you didn’t have to give.”

“Do you think that I’m going to demand you love me romantically? That our friendship is somehow  _ not enough _ now? It’s enough, Bruce. It will always be more than enough. Because I love you in every way you can love a person and as long as you’re in my life, I’m satisfied.”

Clark ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at his rambling. Frustrated that Bruce still hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned, hadn’t done anything other than retreat even further into himself. “I didn’t want to push you away. I want you to be a major part of my life, for the rest of my life. I want everything you can give me.”

“But somehow I have pushed you away. I’ve done something to make you uncomfortable or angry or disappointed.” Clark gave a dispirited laugh. “Or all three. But I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.” 

“Please Bruce,” and now his voice did break. After all he had managed to say, it gave out in this last plea, “Please let me fix it. I need you.”

The silence was huge, heavy, absolute. The last echo of Clark’s voice was teased out of the molecules of air until nothing of them remained. And still Bruce sat silent and unmoving. Still Bruce hadn’t turned to look at Clark.

Clark felt his heart breaking. Whatever he had done, there was no fixing it. There was no going back, there was nothing left for him to save. Clark was going to have to live without Bruce. The impossibility of it was more than he could stand.

Then Bruce hitched a loud breath and Clark realised he had been barely breathing throughout the entire tirade. He had been sitting motionless, huddled into himself, almost holding his breath. Something like hope started to curl in Clark’s chest.

“I didn’t know how you did it,” Bruce said, his voice low and almost stunned, as though the sound of his own voice was surprising, “How you could go back to how we were before so easily. I didn’t know how to just.  _ Unknow  _ how you sound. How you taste.”

Clark felt a shiver of desire travel up his spine. He heard Bruce’s heart rate pick up.

“I couldn’t move on, but you did. Straight away. You were so ready to get back to our friendship as it had always been. And I was stuck. I didn’t know how to. To  _ be  _ around you. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by being stuck on a hookup. I didn’t want to pressure you by being so obviously,” Bruce’s voice hitched as he said, “So obviously in love with you. I didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness.” 

“But it was hard. Too hard.” Bruce let out a watery sounding laugh. “So I distanced myself. I couldn’t trust myself not to manipulate you into a sexual relationship, a romantic relationship, even though I knew that’s not what you wanted. I pushed you away so you wouldn’t end up hating me.”

Finally Bruce turned around. His cowl was down and his eyes were misty, much as Clark’s were. Clark studied that well loved face and saw the raw honesty there. He sniffed hard, breath hitching. Bruce blinked rapidly. 

Then Clark giggled.

He felt the laughter welling up in him and didn’t stop it. It felt like a lifetime since he had been able to laugh. Bruce caught it as well. Then they were giggling together like children. It grew and grew until they were laughing outright. They laughed together, long and relieved. The tears spilled, a mix of humour and sorrow and disbelief that it had worked out this way.

“We are such idiots,” Clark said, between gales.

Bruce wiping his eyes said, “How did we even manage this?”

They calmed, smiling and shaking their heads in disbelief. 

Clark moved towards Bruce, feeling his heart rate pick up, hearing Bruce’s do the same. He stopped in front of Bruce’s chair, merely watching. Knowing they were together in this, there was no urgency. 

Bruce stood. Chest to chest they leaned into one another, feeling the combined force of their heartbeats, almost perfectly in time. Bruce brought one gauntlet to his mouth, pulled it off with his teeth, let it drop to the floor heedlessly. The other was removed the same way. Clark licked his lips, anticipating. Barriers removed, Bruce's hands were bare. 

Finally free to touch.

Bruce reached up, cupped Clark’s face between both hands. He rubbed thumbs over Clark’s cheekbones, watching the movement as though amazed he was actually,  _ finally _ , touching. He ran his hands down Clark’s neck, feeling the pulse thundering there. He continued down, cupped and squeezed Clark’s pecs, teasing the nipples through the fabric of his shirt.

Clark gasped, pressing forward into the touch but Bruce was moving on. His hands travelled down Clark’s stomach, slotted into the cut of his hips. They dragged around to grope and tease Clark’s arse, making him moan. Bruce brought one hand around to rub at the growing hardness at Clark’s crotch while the other pressed a finger into the dip of his crease as much as his slacks would allow.

Clark whimpered, desperate to feel the touch on bare skin. Bruce grinned wickedly. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to feel you,” he said, bending slightly to grip Clark’s thigh, hooking it over his hip. “These fucking  _ legs _ .”

He squeezed Clark’s thigh savagely, still massaging his cock through his pants. Clark circled his hips at the stimulation, reaching up to grip Bruce’s hair, tilting their foreheads together. “I think I’ve got some idea. If it’s anything like how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

Bruce’s breath hitched. His eyes flicked down to Clark’s lips. They moved at the same time, tilting to press their lips together. Soft, wet, mouths open, tongues twining. Clark clutched desperately at Bruce’s hair, the feeling of Bruce’s endlessly caressing hands making him moan into the frantic press of their mouths.

“Bedroom,” Bruce growled between kisses.

Clark felt his knees actually weaken. Grasping Bruce under the buttocks -it was going to be hard to fly with Bruce any other way now- he flew them both up to Bruce’s bedroom, slightly slower than super speed. 

Clark stood them beside the bed, giving Bruce a minute to regain his breath. Once he did Bruce grinned wickedly and yanked Clark’s mouth against his again. Clark felt hands scrabbling at the clasps of the Suit and pulled back, stepped back. Bruce frowned a little but didn’t stop stripping.

“I’ve had so many fantasies of watching you take off that suit,” Clark confessed, watching breathlessly as Bruce’s skin was bared to his hungry eyes. 

Bruce grinned again, still stripping. “I wonder if it’s as many as I’ve had of you peeling me out of it with your teeth?” he said as the final pieces fell away. 

Clark whimpered, at the idea and at Bruce yanking him close to rub his naked body against his clothes. Bruce reached to Clark’s buttons, began to slowly open his shirt. Clark reached up to help, to hurry. Bruce slapped his hands away.

“I haven’t had a chance to do this yet,” he said, as he undressed Clark with excruciating slowness.

As each part of Clark was exposed Bruce touched. He caressed each piece of skin, pinched and teased. Mouth followed, teeth and tongue, but mostly Bruce touched. He touched each piece of Clark as though it were something precious, as though it were something holy. His expression was one of quiet awe and Clark’s heart felt like it would overflow. His skin hummed under Bruce’s hands, a low song of love and wanting.

Once he was naked Bruce pulled Clark against him, their cheeks pressing close. Clark buried his nose in Bruce’s hair, inhaled deeply. He sighed out his breath and felt a sense of contentment that was almost spiritual. That felt like coming home.

Bruce tugged him to the bed. As Clark lay down, Bruce rummaged in a draw, pulling out a tube of lubricant. The sight of it, and of Bruce’s smirk, made Clark’s heart trip into double speed. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck these legs since I met you,” Bruce said, moving over Clark, squeezing his thighs.

Clark moaned, squirmed, nodded. “Do it,” he said.

Bruce slathered Clark’s thighs with the lubricant, sweeping up to stroke his hard cock with the slick. Clark let out a sound that was mostly air as Bruce tugged, smirking down at Clark. Apparently Bruce had been paying very close attention when Clark had masturbated for him. He played Clark like an instrument, coaxing the music of his lust with impeccable certainty. 

“You seem to be enjoying having the  _ upperhand _ ,” Clark said breathlessly.

Bruce paused, his face somehow looking annoyed and amused at the same time. “I am going to kill you,” he said with dry humour, making Clark laugh.

“You really are,” Clark said, still squirming under Bruce’s relentless hand.

Bruce leaned down and kissed him. Clark thought that there could be no better response to his puns. 

Bruce lay down beside Clark, grasping himself and pressing close. Clark gasped as he felt the tip of Bruce’s dick trail along the seam between his legs. As Bruce pushed in, he rubbed along Clark’s balls, teased at his crack, made Clark moan.

Pressing their lips together fiercely, Bruce gave a slow thrust. Clark clutched Bruce’s hair, humming into desperate kisses as he squeezed tight. Bruce groaned long and low in his throat, massaging Clark’s thighs, panting against Clark’s lips. 

Clark couldn’t stop his hips from rocking as Bruce fucked, grinding his aching dick against Bruce’s abdomen. The flexing of his thighs coaxed hitching gasps out of Bruce as it massaged his cock, gliding through the lube so smoothly.

The tease of Bruce against his crease was driving Clark insane. “God, Bruce,” he gasped frustrated, “I need you inside me.”

Bruce whimpered and nodded, reaching a hand behind Clark to give him the more focused pressure he needed. Quickly, not quickly enough, Bruce slid a finger inside him. Clark groaned gratefully, pressing back against the intrusion, already needing more. 

“Please, god Bruce, please,” Clark was muttering, grinding between Bruce’s abs and his fingers. 

“Shit,” Bruce cursed. Pushing Clark onto his back he spread Clark’s legs as wide as they would go.

Clark flopped bonelessly, willing and eager to be spread open. He moaned delightedly as Bruce added another finger and a third in quick succession. The press and spread of Bruce’s talented fingers turning Clark into little more than whimpering jelly.

“Fuck, Clark,” Bruce breathed heatedly, “Look at you.”

Clark moaned and stretched, twisting his hips on Bruce’s fingers, grinding down onto his hand.

“I knew you’d look good spread out on my hand.” Bruce gave an almost vicious twist of his wrist making Clark’s eyes roll back.

“Would look even better on your cock,” Clark gasped, wrapping a hand around himself and beginning to tug slowly. 

Bruce licked his lips and bent over to suckle at the tip of Clark’s dick. Clark swore at the concentrated suction around the sensitive head. Skillful fingers sought and found his prostate, grinding mercilessly and Clark was gone. 

He came thickly into Bruce’s willing mouth, moaning almost helplessly. Bruce leaned back up, swallowing everything, chasing the taste off his lips with his tongue, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“Please fuck me now,” Clark gasped, feeling strewn across the bedspread like wet laundry.

Bruce didn’t say anything, only swiped up the excess lube from Clark’s thighs and coated himself with it. Then he pulled Clark into his lap and pressed forward, a slow and unrelenting slide. Clark let out a breathy moan, clutching at the pillows beneath his head as he was finally breached.

Clark was already half hard again by the time Bruce was settled balls deep inside him. He clutched at Bruce’s back, dragging him down, pressing their lips together in insistent wet kisses. With his tongue buried in Clark’s mouth Bruce began to thrust.

Deep and hard, the sound of Bruce’s hips slapping against Clark’s arse seeming to fill the room, Clark could feel each thrust in his toes. Bruce broke away from the kiss to pant brokenly, tilting their foreheads together, unwilling to give up the closeness.

Bruce circled his hips, grinding against Clark’s sweet spot relentlessly. Clark whimpered, grasping his own nipples and tweaking harshly, needing something to ground him. Bruce hummed appreciatively, pulling back to watch Clark play with his chest, to watch his cock twitch and throb at each twist. 

His thrusts speeding up Bruce gasped, “Don’t come yet.”

Clark nodded tightly but he wasn’t sure if he could last as Bruce’s pace grew frantic. As he felt the pulse of Bruce’s release he was sure he was going to lose it. 

Bruce crashed their lips together once more, his kisses desperate and almost longing. He shuddered through his orgasm, the gasps between kisses sounding something like Clark’s name. Hips slowing, kisses growing more languid, Clark had managed to hold on through the surge of Bruce’s high.

Clark trembled around Bruce as he gathered his breath. The press of their bellies on either side of his cock was a maddening tease. Bruce lifted up slightly, kissing Clark and teasing his nipples, tweaking and flicking. Clark almost writhed under those talented hands.

“I am so glad your casts are off,” Clark gasped between kisses.

Bruce grinned and ducked down to suck on one nipple, while one of his hands wandered off into the bedsheets. Clark pouted at the loss but couldn’t complain when there were teeth closing gently around his swollen flesh. 

When Bruce’s hand came back it held the lubricant. He pulled away completely, grinning some more at Clark’s pathetic whine. He squeezed a generous dollop of lube over Clark’s cock. While Clark gasped at the chill Bruce spread the slick around before climbing from between Clark’s thighs to straddle him.

Realising his intent Clark bit his lip and grasped Bruce’s hips, helping to guide him down onto his cock. Apparently Bruce either didn’t need or didn’t want any preparation and he slid Clark into himself with a pleased hiss.

“You look amazing inside me too,” Bruce said with a self-satisfied smile once he was flush to Clark’s hips. 

Clark could only nod helplessly, the tight heat of Bruce’s body stealing his breath away. Unable to keep still he surged up under Bruce, grinding deeper, making him moan deeply. Bruce leaned back on Clark’s thighs, riding him in tight waves. 

Clark was so ready to come. He met Bruce’s thrusts with quick snaps of his hips but Bruce just kept to his even, indulgent pace. “Please, Bruce,” Clark begged but Bruce just smiled some more.

Digging his hands into Bruce’s thighs, his hips, his waist, Clark felt his frustration mounting. Then he gave in to Bruce’s pace, letting the urgency unmet add to the growing wave of his orgasm. At his acceptance the pleasure seemed to surge higher immediately.

Bruce laughed, pleased as Clark grew compliant beneath him and began to roll his hips, twisting and circling, determined to drive Clark insane. His own cock was semi-hard. It was too soon for him to grow completely hard again but he chased his pleasure along with Clark.

Reaching up Clark pulled Bruce down into a kiss, the angle giving him a little more control of the pace. Bruce moaned into the kisses, gripping Clark’s nipples again. Clark whimpered as he was so perfectly assaulted by Bruce’s body.

“Pound me,” Bruce gasped against Clark’s lips.

Grabbing around Bruce’s waist Clark thrust up mercilessly, driving into Bruce with heated relief. As Clark reached his peak he felt Bruce clench  _ tight _ around him. Still not completely hard Bruce reached another climax as Clark reached his. 

Clark gasped, his hips snapping into Bruce as he came in deep golden waves into Bruce. Humming his approval, Bruce plucked at Clark’s nipples, kissed him with soft wet lips. The two of them slowed and writhed together, kissing and running hands over sweat soaked skin. 

As they came down Clark was awash with so much love he felt as though he were glowing. The way Bruce was smiling into their kisses Clark thought he felt the same.

As Clark softened he slipped free of Bruce’s body, making them both shudder, hitching gasps of disappointment and pleasure. They lay together panting, not willing, not wanting, to move. Then Bruce pushed himself up slightly to look down at Clark, simply wanting to see his face.

Clark smiled up at him and Bruce realised that the smile hadn’t changed. They had confessed to each other and Clark’s smile was still that same warm radiance he had given Bruce almost from the first. And Bruce understood that Clark had loved him for as long as he had been giving him that smile.

His heart swelling in his chest, blocking his throat, Bruce choked out, “I love you, Clark.”

Clark almost melted. To hear Bruce, a man of action over words, speak his love aloud was something Clark treasured almost as much as Bruce himself. “I love you so much, Bruce. I think I always have.”

Bruce gave a short nod and tucked his face into Clark’s neck, sliding his hands under Clark’s shoulders to grip tightly. Clark hugged back just as fiercely, pressing his cheek to Bruce’s. The sun had sunk, leaving them in early evening twilight. Bruce would need to head out for patrol soon.

“You really took charge now your hands are free, huh?” Clark said, not without humour. Bruce grunted but didn’t move. “Is that your preference?”

Bruce grunted again. “That was built up frustration. Anytime you want to spoil me again, please feel free,” he confessed. With a kiss to Clark’s cheek, he added, “I’ll always return the favour.”

Clark grinned and said, “That sounds perfect.”

Bruce smiled at him and settled back down, tucking into Clark’s neck. Their cheeks pressed together again, fitting perfectly, just as they had almost always done.

“Is it bad of me to say I’m happy you broke your arms?” Clark asked without much guilt.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. “I’m happy you didn’t run away at the sight of my hard-on,” he said.

Clark laughed. “After how long I’d been imagining it? How could I have?”

Bruce laughed and shook his head again, as though he couldn’t believe that Clark had actually wanted him. Still wanted him. Like he couldn’t believe his luck. Clark couldn’t either and he found himself laughing too.

They laughed together softly. Surprised it had turned out this way. Surprised it had taken them this long. Limbs entwined, lying together in the deepening twilight, they listened to each other breathe quietly.

***

“Did you want to go for coffee after this?” Clark asked Bruce as soon as the meeting ended. 

Bruce gave a single nod, turning back to shutting down the monitor he had been reading off. Clark smiled at the back of his head and knew by the set of Bruce’s shoulders that he could feel it, that he would have a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth as well.

Clark moved away to wait for Bruce to be finished. As people started filing out Booster Gold stopped next to Clark. Grinning crookedly he commented, “Back in his good graces?”

Clark smiled back and shrugged. “Seems that way,” he said.

Booster grinned, giving him a double thumbs up. “Good for you, Supes. I hate seeing our Work Dads fight.”

Clark laughed with him and waved as he moved off. When he turned back Bruce was approaching. Everyone had left, leaving just Clark, Bruce and the view of Earth spread out before them through the glass wall of the meeting room. 

“Ready?” Clark asked as Bruce reached him.

“More than,” Bruce responded, taking Clark’s hand and dropping a casual kiss on his lips.

Clark couldn’t keep the massive, no doubt ridiculous, grin off his face. Bruce’s smile in response was more indulgent but just as pleased. Pulling Clark in by his hand Bruce kissed him again. Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce, humming happily into the press of their mouths.

“Come on,” Clark said with one last peck. “Let’s get that coffee.”

Bruce hummed agreement, entwining their fingers again and tugging Clark towards the door. They headed out that way together. 

Hand in hand.


End file.
